


Hell is Empty and all the Devils are Here.

by russa



Category: Red Dead Redemption
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-09
Updated: 2018-12-19
Packaged: 2019-09-14 16:09:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16916070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/russa/pseuds/russa
Summary: This is an ongoing work exploring some very dark material and has many brutal themes. I will do my best to archive those at the beginning of each chapter, but I don't want to reveal too much. Please keep in mind it is VERY spoiler rich. If you have not finished the game from start to finish, you do not want to read this fic.





	1. Crisis of Conscience

**Author's Note:**

> {{First chapter is set roughly five months after the end of the game}}

Micah.

How easily Dutch had fallen for that snake’s charms in Blackwater.  Back then, they’d all been sitting pretty on that massive pile of money. The gang had the luxury of money, numbers and were established enough that life had even become…some would say…..easy.

It was incredible really, how deeply Dutch had pined for his early days as a youth; living by his wits and brutality alone on the dust strewn streets.

And how ironic that he’d give anything to have it all back just the way it was.

He stood on a divide between these two personalities he’d so long fostered in the shell that was this slowly aging body.

To the right, was the nurturing father figure, teacher, savior and intellect he fancied himself to be. In this persona he’d taken up with Hosea and raised a family of misbegotten, lost children. The loveless and hopeless came to him to find security where he’d assign them purpose.

Every action he took, in his own opinion, was to further this calling. He had to protect, he had to provide and above all he had to remain a strong leader for everyone.

On the other side, however, there was a man who was birthed and nurtured by brutality. A man who loved no one and valued only self-preservation.  This facet of himself loved and desired malice to such a mortifying level that if he dipped into it too deeply, he’d drown.

Through all these long years, Dutch played a balancing act down a narrow pathway through the middle of these two personalities.

He drew from both easily without needing to delve or linger too long in either.

As he aged, however, the path between the two narrowed more and more and more-

Before he could even comprehend it, he was walking heel to toe just to stay up right.

Teacher.

Murderer.

Love.

Apathy.

_Who was he?_

And ask himself that, he had. Whilst sitting in the study with Hosea mulling over the newest edition to some book with the gentle candlelight glowing in the man’s eyes. Did he love Hosea? _Surely_.

Laughing as he put a firm hand on a young Arthur’s shoulders to again steady him on the horse.

Did he love Arthur?

_Surely_.

Then how?

_How was it that he allowed any of this to happen?_

And now.

Dutch looked up from his seated space in this old weathered wooden chair. Cracks and splinters in the badly damaged roof above allowed long streaks of light to illuminate his current residence.

He shifted back into the folds of these heavy coats and let a long shudder of an exhale escape him. His breath visibly on the air and an inhale brought in that ice-cold sting with it.

He was sitting in the chair with his back to the wall and one arm across the wooden table next to him.

He looked down along his arm in a long despondent way. His gloved hand felt disembodied there in the stillness.

There was visual input, certainly. He felt distantly aware that he was cold and uncomfortable from sitting far too long in inaction.

But it was easy to ignore.

It was easy to ignore everything lately.

The door to this old, run down cabin creaked open loudly and another body shifted in.

_Micah_.

With him came the roar of a winter storm which the outlaw animatedly fought up until the door was closed again. His breathing was audible, heavy, and he was bundled up from head to toe in layers.

Dutch shifted his forefinger and thumb together to remind himself to move.

With his head down, he looked up at the man with a thin frown.

Micah shook both shoulders of snow and loudly threw down his packages on the baseboards.

He had that wild look to him as he flipped his head up to acknowledge Dutch there. He spread both arms out.  
  
“WELL Howdy do to you too, boss! YES, I DID get the supplies we needed- are you sitting in the _cold_ now?! Just let the fire go _right out_ again, huh!?”

Micah swung his body to regard the stove where embers were just barely burning.

He sniffed loudly and clamored off to address the situation.

Dutch watched silently. He hadn’t moved an inch and only followed Micah with his pupils.

There was a lot of clatter whilst the bandit jerked open the stove with his gloved hands and started stabbing and poking at the embers. They sizzled as he shoved splinters of wood in and again flames licked and roared.

Dutch only noticed the lack of heat when the warmth returned to the cabin.

“Gotta plug up these holes, is what I say. Every bit of goddamn heat just seeps right out the sides.” Micah slammed the stove shut and angled himself to Dutch.

“You eat yet? Something? _Anything_?”

He was using that berating voice Dutch had so come to deeply resent. The same damned voice he’d used every day since showing up with the chest full of gold. The weasel.

It had been Micah who stormed through Blackwater to collect on all that money left behind. It was Micah who was close behind when the law finally caught up with Dutch. Micah had all the answers and was always in just the right place.

The gifts and acts of grandeur were far too little, too late. Apologies for the unforgivable.

When he’d climbed in bed with Micah before, he didn’t realize just _how_ much he had to lose.

“Heyheyhey, made you something. Gotta eat! Everybody’s gotta eat, Dutchie-“

Dutch blinked slowly to find Micah was standing irritatingly close before him with a plate of steaming veggies and meat.

The smell hit his nose and his stomach rumbled. He clenched his fingers into a fist.

He gave Micah a dark look.

The man cracked a splintered grin clear from ear to ear. He clapped the plate down on the table and started shrugging off layers.

“He’s pissed, what else is new? Pissed _pissed_ _pissed_! How long you gonna play the silent punishment with me?! Barely said a WORD since Annesburg-”

Micah’s voice was muffled in the layers of the sweater he was jerking over his head.

“MMMFF ITssss been about, what- TOO long since one of your tangents. I would love to hear the sound of that _voice_ again carrying on and on.”

Ignoring him, Dutch regarded the plate of food from the corner of his eye. Beef brisket settled on a bed of steaming carrots and roots. The warm colors radiated in the dismal backdrop of battered and worn wood paneling.

His brows furrowed, and he blinked away the strange sensation of mind fog. He shifted his stiff shoulders and came back to life as he regarded Micah now.

“You wanna…………………………………..you wanna talk..hmm, Micah?”

He barely recognized his own voice. It sounded odd somehow; distant.

His hand moved without much thought and he stirred the plate with the battered old fork provided.

Micah went rigid and stared with wide, wild eyes at him in expectancy.

“Yes?????????”

Dutch opened his mouth and watched the man’s breath hitch sharply.

He took a bite of food.

The savory taste and warmth hit his starved senses like a freight liner. He clenched his teeth at how good this tasted. Why had he gone this long without eating??? He’d felt absolutely no desire to do so before.

A name came to mind and Dutch soundly stamped it down.

He kept eating. Slowly. Taking his time with every piece of food. All the while he watched that wild look on Micah’s face dwindle down and down into near bewilderment. Those pale eyes flitted back and forth.

Dutch polished off the plate and made a short noise as he chewed the last of it. He smacked his lips before dropping the tin unceremoniously back on the table.

And that was the end of it. He didn’t say another word and instead stood up to take his leave from the room.

Micah gawped and made an incredulous arm gesture as he was left alone.

Dutch forced his way out into the snow and braced against the roar of wind against his body. He could watch the flakes fall for a long moment before finding that numb place again.

_Who was he?_

It had taken him a long time to come to the only conclusion there was left:

_It didn’t matter anymore._

 


	2. Shifting the Weight

Their interactions over the following weeks played out in a very similar fashion to this incident. Micah would slather on the sleaze and bring him a reminder that he was still alive, and Dutch would respond as minimally as humanly possible.

“It’s a sad saddddddd funk you’ve got yourself in, boss.” Micah would lament.

“A realllllllll sorry state! Breaks my heart you can barely even look at me.”

Food was the most common gift that _worked._ He’d sit despondent for hours and simply let the man bring dish after dish whenever a meal was made.  Each time Micah would go all out and try to coerce more and more out of him.

Dutch remained near statuesque.

Here he was at the end of the world with nothing but time, gold and Micah dancing like a monkey on a string.

_Hell. He was in hell._

The days piled on with little to nothing happening most of the time. Micah reigned in more hired hands to help with the various problems of being the most wanted fugitives in the states. He upgraded their housing, buckled down on weaponry and stocked up on any supplies they could ever want.

There was money to spare.

“Will you stopppppp with this already!??” Micah moaned as he neared the absolute brink.

Dutch was in the same chair, with the same expression on his face as always.

“OH, it’s REALLLLLLL sad for you to mopeee and mopeeee and _mope_ when all you had was the _WHOLEEEE world_ before-”

Dutch hadn’t done much to set off this outburst, but he shifted in his chair and idly watched Micah stomping his feet before him.

“Stop?...................................................With _what_?” Dutch raised his brows. Expectant.

Micah looked down at him with his mouth half agape.

Brief processing passed between them as the crazed man’s breath rate increased. Dutch was counting the seconds down.

Micah raised his fist with one finger pointed upwards and bit down visibly on what he was about to say a handful of times before it finally burst forth.

“PA..THETICC!!!” It just exploded out of Micah with such ferocity that it seemed to surprise even him.

He grinned lividly and pointed the finger to Dutch.

_“YOU. ARE. BEING. PATHETIC.”_

Dutch let his jaw drop slightly open and he sat forward for just a second before just sinking back. He hadn’t decided if he felt absolutely anything yet.

“HEHH HEHEH H-“  Micah splintered off into this deranged laughter.

He couldn’t stop himself!! This train was off the rails!

“You wanna PUNISH ME, Dutchie!?!? Makes yah feel REAL good????? Heehuhhh hhuhuhuhu-Sittin there just waiting-  hehehhah JUST WAITING for me to give up. For the TRUTH to come out so you can FINALLY be ABSOLVED-“

Dutch shifted and relaxed again. His brows were furrowed some in mock outrage as he watched Micah go up in flames.

He still hadn’t decided how he felt yet.

Micah threw his arms out extravagantly in a mock ‘cross’ for emphasis of course. He flipped and paced back through the cabin before returning immediately with his hand over his mouth. Still laughing. Still grinning, but frantically. Like a man at the end of his rope.

Dutch idled and tapped his finger on the wooden table.

Micah’s voice broke into a serious hiss and he stepped forward like he was speaking with a small child or animal.

“ _Here’s the thing_. It was all _YOUR fault_. You can sit there, mope and wait for me to take the blame for the rest of time but it never, ever stops being _your fault_.”

Dutch’s pupils followed every animated gesture. His nose was scrunched slightly.

Micah proceeded with an even more urgent hiss.

“ _You lead em down the path to slaughter, Dutch. You didn’t HAVE to take that job; You didn’t NEED the money. Oh no._ You had more than you could spend. It was _never_ about the money. _”_

Micah looked intensely focused now with his piercing blue eyes boring down into the man. It was clear he hadn’t slept in days, weeks maybe. He wasn’t laughing anymore, though his hands quivered, and his body still quaked with the same shudders.

Dutch’s dark pupils slowly rose to meet Micah’s.

He wasn’t there yet, but this look said how close he was.

Micah choked on one short laugh. Anything was better than Dutch’s apathy.

“OH, and poor, sick Arthur………..…In his _lowest moment_ -“

That was it.

CRACK.

Micah didn’t have a second more to utter a single word before a fist collided with the side of his face. He was thrown back off his feet and collided with several pallets of supplies behind him. He scrambled through the wreckage of wood around him with a strangled laugh.

_“TT-THERE HE IS.”_

Dutch loomed over with a spark in his eye.

Micah pulled himself from the wreck of cans, jars and ammunition. His cheek was split and already bruising as he struggled to get back on his feet.

He wouldn’t get there.

Dutch flipped his pistol up and cocked it at him.

Micah flinched and showed his palms with another series of sputtered laughs.

“Hhhha hhah, Our hero! Ww-who are you tryin’ to fool anymore, ah?? Whww- You didn’t _care_ about _THEM_. I KNOW you, Dutch. I know you better-”

Dutch’s jaw was firmly set. He blinked without fully closing his eyes and looked down his sites.

“ _Shut up, Micah.”_

There must have been something in his tone because this silenced the man immediately and they stared at one another. Dutch’s nostrils flared as he let that raw reaction sink beneath his skin. It itched and festered there.

Dutch felt internal bargaining.

“Tell. Me. What you did, Micah.”

His own voice sounded far away.

Micah stared wide eyed as he processed what he meant. He shuddered and firmly closed his eyes.

Dutch stepped forward and holstered his gun. He nodded as he stepped into the pile of rubble and onto Micah.

“You’ll talk……………………” He concluded with another nod.

“You always……….you always…………. _talk_ , don’t you? Micah?”

Dutch pushed his boot down on the man’s chest and shifted his weight forward.

Micah grinned up at him with brows furrowed up. His breathing was hastening dramatically. Dutch could feel it rising and falling beneath the sole of his shoe. He kept pushing down until it was forcibly slowed.

Micah was armed and readily able to reach his weapon, but both palms still faced Dutch. His hat had rolled off behind him.

Micah couldn’t quite breathe but he still hissed.

“Hhhh wh-what’s it gonna tt-ake? To prove to you-“

Dutch’s eyes widened.

He backed off and let him up.

_“Get up.”_

Micah popped up into a sitting position to urgently follow the demand. He’d barely gotten his feet under him and his hat back on his head before Dutch shoved him.

_“The post.”_ Dutch snapped.

“What pos-“

Micah started but was shoved forward in the direction of one of the main pillars holding up the cabin. Grunt and growling, he stepped up to it with a look over his shoulder aimed at Dutch.

“Take off your shirt, Mr. Bell.” Dutch snapped again. “Face the goddamn post.”

Micah blinked. His brows shot up and he hesitated in surprise of the demand but only for a split second. Dutch was undoing his belt, which prompted Micah to quickly face the post and go for his own pants.

“HEY-” Dutch gave this sharp outcry that had Micah going rigid in his fumbling.

Bell grinned, gave a low laugh and very slowly raised both hands.

_“I wasn’t-“_

“I KNOW damn well what you were doing. Take off the fucking shirt.”

Dutch unraveled his belt and tested the leather of it in his hands. Micah rocked his head and shoulders side to side to pop something and obediently shrugged off the layers.

_“Wwwhatteverr-“_

As Micah pulled off the last layer, he exposed long rake mark scars, gouge scars and burn scars clear across his back from neck to waistline. He was clearly no stranger to torture. Were any of them?

Dutch let the lantern light cast shadows in some of the deeper grooves. Raised edges of blade marks, deep pocks of burns, lash marks. There were moments recorded here that he hadn’t seen before.

“ _How much………_ was too much?”

Micah laughed wryly.

“ _Don’t_ know what you’re talking about, chief.”

Dutch absolved he was going to find out. One way or the other.

He raised the belt and swung it down across a pre-existing scar. There was a crack and a clap of it hitting skin as Micah braced on the pillar.

“Ahk! Nnrrrrrrrrrr…..ouch.”

Dutch felt his blood pressure rise by some singular digit and his nostrils flared. He wrapped the belt in his hand for a better grip and swung it again. It hit hard enough to leave a raised pink mark over the crisscrossing of scars.

Again, Micah braced with a smart-ass remark.

“GHK- Just lettt it out. You’ll see.”

Dutch breathed a little harder and faster. He laid out lash after lash with the belt in sharp, short motions with enough space between to let the sting ease off before the next. Micah was running out of witty retorts fast but aimed to sound as sarcastic as possible with each out cry.

Fifteen steady lashings in and Dutch felt himself becoming despondent.

He swung much harder and the next blow bubbled up with red where he’d split the skin.

Micah screamed and heaved in hard. He sunk forward against the pillar with his brow pressed to it.

Dutch immediately caught that flutter of life for the first time in too long. Adrenaline. Excitement. JUST the slightest whiff of it.

He stopped to breathe and felt the blood flowing to the ends of his digits, the rough leather of the belt and the temperature from the friction. He took in the sight of Micah standing before him with the raised red marks upon his back. There was bruising rising to the surface across his shoulder blades.

Dutch looked around the shoddy cabin and felt like he was stepping foot into it for the first time.

The past few weeks were a blur, but now he had something _real_ to grasp to.

His pause made Micah glance back. He breathed open mouthed as his brows raised.

“Hhh………………… _Satisfied_?”

Dutch took a deep stabilizing breath and pushed back at a few loose strands of black hair that had been loosened in the motions.

“…………Far from it.”

Micah gripped the post with a grin and a nod. The rough texture of the wood had scuffed his palms and goosebumps rose on his arms. He stared forward at the wood for a moment and turned around to press his back to it instead. He leaned upon the post with most of his weight and glowered up.

“Try this side, boss.”

Dutch’s brow furrowed but his eyes traced down the man’s front, nonetheless. He let the belt go loose in his hand and looked at Micah’s face for inspiration before swinging it again. Micah winced hard but remained upright as the blow fell on his bare chest.

“HHHH. There yah go-“

Dutch grimaced in irritation and hit him again a few times in rapid secession. He felt his muscles flexing and watched the pained expressions crack across Micah again and again. It was harder to get a clean blow from this angle with his victim’s slouching growing more excessive by the moment.

Van Der Linde suddenly shoved him back upright against the post.

In a few deft motions, he wrapped the belt and buckle about the post and Micah’s neck.

Micah heaved and struggled in momentary panic. His eyes widened, and limbs jerked as he grabbed at Dutch for support. This game had just crossed into territory he wasn’t ready for.

“BE still.” Dutch demanded.

One quick jerk tightened the belt further and choked the man.

Micah’s hands instinctively grabbed his dual pistols.

“AH!” Dutch warned.

Micah abandoned the guns and rapidly grabbed at the belt instead. He forked his fingers desperately between the leather and his neck in search of relief. He couldn’t breathe, and the panic was showing.

“You trust me not to KILL you, don’t you?”

Micah nodded rapidly through choked noises.

“Goood…………..”

Dutch looked down to address the firm bulge in the man’s pants with this highly unimpressed expression.  Micah heaved and shrugged his shoulders when the expression came to rest on his face instead.

“Mph. I can’t……… _comprehend it_ , Micah.”

Dutch mused in a lazy, half involved way. The sparks of energy were starting to fade off into a morose acceptance once more.

Micah laughed through the bondage.

“Hh-I…uhhhhh…… _like you. Big surprise.”_

Dutch’s eyelids lowered, and he blinked very slowly at him.

“No, not that. _Idiot._ What I just.. _can’t_ wrap my head around is- HOW- you..of all people-“

He stepped forward and shuffled through the man’s pants as he spoke. Micah cringed at the cold, rough hand groping hard inside his trousers. Dutch had a handful of him in the worst way possible.

“Hk-ghgh—gkkg kgkg-“

Dutch lined up his face with Micah’s to level his dark eyes with the man’s distressed expression.

“ _Betrayed me._ ”

Micah gave a long groan of a noise and rolled his eyes.

Dutch persisted. He shifted his hand for a firmer purchase upon the man’s loins and squeezed.

“ _Betrayed me to those bastards-_ “Dutch repeated this far louder and pushed in closer. “When you LIKE being treated like a goddamn dog!! What did they DO, Micah???? What did they SAY-“

As he escalated, Dutch clenched harder. He had a full fist around the man’s balls and twisted.

Micah jerked the belt loose enough to scream.

“GAGHHHHH GGGIVEEE IT A REST!!!! I DIDN’T DOOOO IIIIIT!!!”

Dutch’s grabbed the belt and ripped the man off the post. He jerked him along by his throat to throw him forcefully face first over the table.

“BULLSHIT.” Dutch cried out.

“GNRGHHHHHHHHHHHHH.” Micah grabbed the table and let his forehead slump upon it; leaving his back exposed to his boss.

It didn’t matter. Not _really._

Van Der Linde seized hold of these trousers and jerked at them over and over until the man’s pale ass was exposed. Micah groaned and grumbled in protests that only escalated when he heard the ‘shink’ sound of Dutch unsheathing his hunting knife.

“AWH are you fu-!??”

Dutch pushed forward with his hand pressed against the small of Micah’s back. He probed the tip of the sharp blade up between his legs until the very point was resting upon his asshole. The cold steel drew this indescribable noise out of the man.

“ _SPILL IT or I’ll field dress you RIGHT NOW-,“_

Micah screamed between his teeth and cracked his brow down on the table.

“ _I swear to you Dutch. I SWEAR I didn’t say a goddamn-“_

Dutch turned the knife and sliced a razor thin line from the man’s rectum out across his buttocks.

“Lies!!”

Micah cracked this higher pitched noise through a strangle of groans.

Dutch repeated the action across the other cheek this time to the tune of another agonized scream. It sent a radiating shudder down his spine and he pushed the blade back into position with it aimed down towards the man’s taint this time.

“One more TIME, Mr. Bell!!”

Micah cursed loudly to match how loud Dutch’s voice was roaring.

“FFFFUCKKKKK- WW-WE CAN DO THIS ALLLLL DAY, VAN DER LINDE.” He yelled back and slammed the table.

Dutch had enough. He was fully prepared to stab the knife straight in when the table suddenly gave out beneath them. There came the crack and splinter of wood before gravity toppled them both down over top of each other.

Micah struggled, kicked and shoved. Dutch groaned and slammed his elbow down to subdue him.

Ultimately, it ended in a few traded punches and blows before they both broke apart.

Micah desperately tried to crawl away and pull his pants up at the same time. Dutch went in the opposite direction. With the whole escapade over, they both put a sizeable distance between one another.

It was a mutual decision not to push further in either direction.

Micah decided it was better to leave well enough alone for now. His stinging, miserable wounds remained a scathing reminder that prodding Dutch wasn’t worth the grief.

 


	3. Focus on Demand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ((Third and last chapter for tonight.))

With this incident behind them, Micah resumed running the camp and calling the shots as before, and Dutch returned to a near unresponsive existence.

Micah still made a nuisance of himself by providing meals, but he didn’t hang around to wait for reactions any longer. 

The blizzards died off outside on the mountain and heavy snow drift and clear skies settled in. Many hired guns came and went, and their camp filled up with miscreants of all wretched paths of life. Dutch ignored them as easily as he had Micah.

His deranged companion seemed to enjoy the noise.

The bitter cold kept any of the outlaws from being too energetic for the most part, but there were a few that rubbed Dutch the wrong way.

A big bruiser called Hans was one of them. Dutch didn’t like the way he looked at him, didn’t like how he talked when he thought no one was listening and especially didn’t like how bold the bastard was. Micah was the ring leader, as far as he was concerned, and it was his problem to deal with.

Just as he’d expected, Hans decided one late night that the couple hundred he was getting wasn’t _enough_ and he’d rather have access to the whole pot.

Van Der Linde saw it coming a mile away.

As night fell there came a heavy-handed knock on their cabin door and multiple yells from outside.

Dutch was relaxing in the loft on his back and barely even budged. Micah had been dozing off over a bottle down below and jumped for his guns.

“Y’ALL COME ON OUT NOW. We know there only TWO of you and a hells a lot more of US.”

There came the mechanical clicking of weapons being cocked.

Micah had a handful of cocaine powder which he was trying to inhale all at once.

“H-HANS?? Stupid sausage suckin’ jackass!! Why don’t you crawl right on back to that cave I pulled you out of!!!??”

Micah’s breath was ragged as he pulled on gun strap and belts. He was clearly still drunk and kept groaning under his breath to sober himself up.

“We got FIFTEEN MEN Micah. Just hand o’r the gold. Can’t kill us all-“

Dutch, who hadn’t moved from his lounging position, just laughed outright.

“Any one of you that kills Micah gets the whole goddamn thing, boys!!” He roared with a broad hand gesture at the air above him. “HAVE AT THEE.”

Micah jerked the destroyed table up to use as a shield amidst a series of colorful, manic curses.

“AGghghhh  SO good, -SNIFF- to have you on my side. Hurrah for loyalty.”

There came a long pause from outside along with a lot of muttering of confusion.

The pause drew out longer and longer. Micah hit himself in the face with a groan and shook his head again.

“You talkin serious Van Der Linde?” Came a dull question followed by more muttering.

Dutch counted under his breath.

“Did I STUTTER, boys?”

Micah stood up and looked up at him from down below in the main area.

_“Dutch!”_ He lamented with a long whine.

Dutch looked idly over the edge of the loft with this ‘What?’ expression.

The confusion outside reached a peak and big Hans started kicking the door in. Micah ducked down with another series of groans. He was cornered and boxed in by the same assholes he’d hired to protect the place and Dutch was just loving it!

“NNRRHHH whose gonna pay for your meals, your weapons and lodging when _all that gold_  is gone, huh???-“ He started up in a deranged, frantic tone before flinching as Hans hit the door again.

“Agghhhhhhhhh- FUCK IT.”

Micah stood up and let fly round after round at the door before Hans could get it open. His enemies outside loosed their own weapons and shots deafened out the silence.

“Five.” Was all Micah could hear from Dutch. Van Der Linde was sitting up now in the loft and minding the sounds of bullets hitting the walls all around them.

Five? Five! Five men.

Practically wheezing, Micah screamed out.

“ALRIGHT ALRIGHT. YOU WINN HANS. YOU WIN!!!!”

Silence.

The door was swinging open from the combination of rounds fired and the kicking from before. Micah holstered his guns and came out from his hide with both arms up and a frantic grin plastered on his face. He was high as hell.

“CMMONN. I yieeeldddddd. Ccmonnn and get your moneyyy. It’s righttttttt…..h..hh….hh…. in here!!!”

No one wanted to move.

Micah gestured animatedly towards himself.

“WELL COME ON. Money’s all yourrsss.”

It took a few moments, but Hans did send in a scrawnier side kick. His shot gun was aimed directly at Micah and he called the others only when the coast was clear. Micah counted them one by one.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Five.

Hans was six.

They all had guns on Micah despite his hands being up.

Micah cocked his head to the left. When he spoke, he carried each word too long. His nose was burning, and everything was coming into livid focus around him. He shoved his wrist to his nose and sniffed hard one more time to inhale the last of it. And if that wasn’t enough, the shot he’d done would cover it.

“All in the _chest_ rightttt over there, lucky you! No body’s gotta die. It’s just…MONEY…that’s alllllllllllll it is. We got wayyy more than that.”

Micah moved out of the way and let the men go ahead and investigate the chest.

The second it opened, Hans expressed this tremendous gasp at the glow of gold. Few men in this age could look upon such a collection of riches and not lose their head a little. Micah was counting on it.

The reaction was enough to grant him that split millisecond where every other pair of eyes shifted towards Hans.

Bell moved with lightning speed.

Shots rang out from all sides. Confusion, blood and smoke. Micah was practically liquid in his movements.

He felled every single one of the men with head shots one after the other. His years of experience, deft hands and boosted focus were over-kill as far as this sorry lot went.

It was over in seconds and bodies thudded to the ground. There was absolutely no reason he should have walked out of this unscathed, or that he should have been able to move that quick, but here he was.

Micah was out of breath and heaving as he stumbled forth to put an extra round in each skull for good measure. He was unhinged and shaking down to the last extra measure and at last looked up wide eyed to see Dutch watching idly.

“ _That was six, you asshole._ _”_

Dutch scoffed.

“Well, you got ‘em, didn’t you?”


	4. Cleanliness is Next to-

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ((Warning: Dubious content in this one)))

Dutch awoke the following morning to find Micah gone. His first instinct was that the bastard finally wised up and made himself scarce.

Micah’s horse was gone, the bodies were cleared out, and there were fresh tracks down the narrow pathway.

Dutch traced steps steadily back to the ridge and dared any wolves to fuck with him today.

The gold hadn’t been touched, a meal was sitting cold on the battered old side table and Micah had left his favorite dual pistols.

Clearly, he was intending on coming back.

Dutch had to decide if he wanted to be here when that happened.

After a few hours, apathy won out and he made some vague effort at living by eating the cold food. His chest remained a cavernous hole and his mind was numb yet again from the long, excessive hours of stress.

He sat in the cold for an unhealthy time afterwards and watched the broken door swaying back and forth.

It finally pissed him off enough to get up and fix it. He had to pull up nails from the destroyed table and broke down the whole structure for parts.

Rather than mend the busted door, Dutch found himself building a new one for no sensible reason.

It took most of the day to do so, but he had a finished piece by late afternoon.

Micah returned as he was testing the hinges.

They stopped and looked at one another.

The outlaw’s blue eyes were wide and he had a dodgy, horrified expression about him. He approached Dutch with his body crouched down some and hands visible. Dutch had seen this look on him many times before and called it classic ‘tail between his legs’ behavior.

“Dutch! I found a _pretty little homestead_ just past the lake. Real outta the way. Tucked nice and hidden in the woods…cliffs on both sides, and ain’t nobody coming home-“

Dutch stared at him for a long moment with this incredulous scowl.

“I just fixed the _goddamned_ door.”

Micah looked bewildered with his jaw dropped open. He looked at the door.

“Ah….. _yes and_ what a swelllll job you did there. Hear me out-“

Dutch groaned and went back inside, forcing Micah to scurry after him.

“Hear me out, _please,_ Dutch.”

Micah stayed in the doorway.

“Why should I?”

“ _BECAUSE_ this is the real deal. Real _house house._ A bed!! Stove! I-it’s even got one of them big _bath tins_.”

Dutch looked strained to his wits end and beyond.

“Uh huh.” He responded sarcastically. “And WHAT happened to the _owners_ of said ‘house house’???”

Micah clapped his hand over his face and drug it down.

“DEAD!! Won’t be _missed!!_ Just some rotting widower. Fucker was _completely ancient_ , was doin him a _favor_ puttin’ him outta-“

“You _killed_ an old, dying man?!”

Micah expelled a ‘rrrarrhh!!’ noise through his nose and stormed out of the cabin before coming right back in, breathing fire.

“You gotta STOPPP acting like you give a rat’s ass what happens to _people_ , Dutch! Hear me!? You don’t give a goddamned fuck any more than _I DO!!! I’m real up the river, fucking sick of your noble bullshit-_ ”

Dutch let him carry on and on.

“ _Show me the goddamned house_ ,” He barked finally.

Micah’s seething vitriol died off in an instant and he popped back in to go grab his guns and supplies.

“THAT’S it, come on!”

 

The little homestead Micah turned up was a massive improvement from the dilapidated cabin and camp they’d been at before. With the hills snowed in this heavy, it would be months before any travelers passed any where near it and it was far enough out of the way that it wouldn’t be stumbled upon by accident.

The house itself was log built and very weathered. It had clearly been upkept until the past year or so.

Dutch wasn’t thrilled, but he wasn’t complaining. The interior was warm, clean and well decorated.

It felt surreal stepping through a real doorway into a foyer to the smell of baked bread. The place was very recently lived in and it immediately put a sour taste in his throat. There were ancient pictures of the walls of a wife and husband.

He almost turned around and left.

“Someone. Is going to miss these people.”

“ _Just one, Dutch. Just ONE old fuck._ And no oneeeeee is gonna miss ‘em!! I looked this over again aand againnnnnn-”

Micah stormed through the little house with a loud inhale.

There was clamoring of the bastard going through cabinets and opening doors.

Dutch tread slowly through with a deepening frown. He strolled through the hallway and stopped right before the bath room.

A key turned in his mind as he surveyed the little space for the longest moment.

_A bath._

He hadn’t had a real, thorough bath since they were strewn out here into this mess. Sometimes he felt so _caked_ with Arthur’s sickness, he wanted to claw his own flesh off.

The thought of being able to be _clean_ and well kempt again set a roar in his chest he couldn’t just ignore. It was likely the first time he’d wanted to do ANYTHING since the mountain path.

“Micah, get the bath running whilst I investigate the _rest_ of this-“

“Milllesssss ahead of you, boss.” Micah called with that obnoxious, snarky half laugh in his tone.

Dutch cursed under his breath and poked into the bedroom.

Real bed. Check. He could probably ignore the ghosts on the walls.

The kitchen was stocked with canned goods, some of which were as old as goddamned Micah. There was salted meat, cheese and home-made bread. The man living here before was clearly abled enough to do all this and probably hadn’t visited town in a decade.

He found fresh blood in the snow out back. The occupant of the house must have been out by his old horse when Micah undoubtably slit his throat. The smell of iron was heavy on the air and Dutch followed the blood trail down the incline towards the cliff edge.

It ended there.

He peered over at the chasm below. Miles and miles and miles of empty air. He couldn’t even see the body for the stone edges jutting out. The snow would cover this blood trail in no time.

Dutch squeezed his eyes and scrunched his nose.

“Poor son of a bitch.”

Just another red mark on his ledger.  Micah was _his_ rabid animal, and had he put him down already……

Too late for that now.

Dutch returned to the house and immediately checked on the bath which was priority number one in his mind. Micah rather victoriously poured another pot into the steaming water before making an excessive arm motion.

His boss was already shrugging off these layers with a fierce urgency.

“You can make yourself _scarce now_. Quicklyyyyyyy, while I can still stand to _look at you._ ” Dutch tossed aside his battered undershirt and stepped out of his pants. Goddamned long johns were practically stuck to his skin with sweat and filth. He’d really slipped on the hygiene lately.

Micah clapped down the pot and went to lean back on the counter.

Maybe he was too _busy_ looking pleased with his now nude companion.

“I can _help-_ “He started in a sly tone.

“OH you’ve ‘helped’ enough- “

Dutch pointed at the door but stepped into the tub in the same motion. The heated water reached up to his knee and he stifled a moan before just sinking in completely.

He was going to flay Micah alive for the _look_ he was giving him right now.

Fuck it.

Micah sauntered over with a bar of soap deftly held in his fingertips. He grinned and handed it over.

“ _Youuuuuuu heheh,_ were made for the _finer things,_ ” He made a hand gesture and chuckled at the dirty look Dutch gave him. “Always knew this kinda life just weren’t for yah. Ever since I first saw you in all that _silk and satin.”_

Dutch aggressively drug the bar over both arms back and forth.

“HMPFH. And you, nothing but a miscreant with _daddy issues._ ”

Micah sunk to his knees and lounged upon the side of the tub with his arms.

“Musta been my _scrawny ass_ that drew you in-hhmmmmmmmmhahhahhhh……. _just_ the right age- not a man…………..not a boy……………….. but something in _between-_ “

Dutch stopped scrubbing and gave him a murderous look. The silent demand was ignored.

Micah shook his head and squeezed his eyes with a crooked grin.

“ _Weren’t the first time, y’know._ Sure played the part good enough, ah? _Always was a fast learner_ _._ ”

Dutch’s eyes bored into him with this open-mouthed scowl before he just slowly started scrubbing himself down again.

Micah hopped up with a cracked laugh and walked to the end of the tub. He wriggled out of his boots and proceeded to step in with all his clothes still on.

“ _Goddamnit Micah.”_

“ _Wasn't worth keeping though!_ Not like your other precious children.” Micah spoke loudly as he slopped down into the steaming water. The level rose so high that it started spilling and splashing over the sides.

“I loved you, but you was damaged far _beyond_ fixing. And you _had_ family.” Dutch’s voice splintered as he snapped this.

He was doing his damnedest to keep scrubbing at all this filth with Micah sloshing around in the basin upon his legs. The son of a bitch was only now taking off his soaking wet clothes piece by piece and making a nuisance of himself.

_“_ Sure were glad to see me again when I turned up. Right about when you..huh....needed me most. _”_ Micah shrugged his shoulders out and kicked his leg up to rest on Dutch’s chest.

Dutch stared him down and finally just leaned back to make space.

He wasn’t going to argue the point. He’d done precisely what he wanted to do, and he wouldn’t pretend to justify it. Micah knew what he was.

“Well, you got me _now,_ Micah. Damn me. Damn you. Allllll to yourself. It’s what you wanted from the get go-“

Dutch grabbed the brush from the side of the tub and scrubbed at his arms and chest. Micah’s leg got caught up in it and got scrubbed too.  The outlaw was nearly fully submerged right up to his nose in the water; resembling a crocodile with his bright set of eyes and dark circles beneath them.

The water was turning colors to Dutch’s dismay and he persisted on getting as much off as possible before this whole mess was reduced to a filth soup.

 He pushed Micah’s leg off him and struggled to sit forward with their tangled weights shifting in the basin. It took bracing on the sides of the tub, but he sat up just enough to send Micah sliding down into the water.

The scruffy bandit looked up at him with a deepening frown.

Dutch didn’t have a soft spot left in him to fall for that look.

But he did sink back in some. He reached down into the water and hooked both hands under Micah’s knees-lifting them and pushing out both ways to part his legs. Micah grabbed the edges of the basin and pulled himself up as their bodies slipped together.

Dutch braced against the basin over Micah’s head and looked down upon him with a heavy sigh.

“Did you _want me………..back_ then?” He had impatience in his tone.

Micah groaned and grumbled with a bobbing of his head back and forth, as if mulling it over quickly. He finally smacked his lips together and nodded.

“Yeahhhhhhhh, yeah I did.”

Dutch glared.

“And do you want me now?.....................Right now?”

Micah squeezed his eyes up with resolve. He looked miserable and suspicious. Dutch was counting on it.

“Y-y…………………………… _yes I do._ Like you would not believe.”

“Get ready then.”

Micah tried to get up so he could rapidly reach over the tub for his clothes. He had to reach something in one of his pockets, but he couldn’t get anywhere with Dutch’s body in the way. Too slippery, too cramped.

“I don’t. Like………. _waiting_. Micah.” Dutch sounded off each word loudly and with each one he could feel himself getting harder and harder. “Don’t…………... _Make_ me wait.”

Micah groaned and flailed his arm out of the tub; hopelessly unable to reach the item he needed. Dutch sunk down further against him, effectively pinning him into this mess. He could feel his rapid breathing in each quick rise and fall of his chest. Rough skin, scars, patches of hair slid and brushed and squeezed firmly together. All his own mass against Micah’s.

Dutch shook his head very slowly.

“Well, looks like you had your chance. Wouldn’t work in all this water, anyway, would it??”

Micah bared his teeth and furrowed his brows at him, but he laughed anyway. He had to grit his teeth and laugh again through them as Dutch pushed their lower halves tightly together. Resilient Micah wrapped both arms about him and stirred himself up to attention as best he could.

He made it purposefully difficult to move and Dutch struggled to work up his legs and rock his hips forward. They fought against one another as he jammed in an inch or two before losing the position.

Dutch shoved down on Micah to free himself up for movement. Micah groaned, snarled and seethed with arms, legs and torso all working away.

“DON’T fight me,” Dutch demanded. “This is _exactly_ what you been begging for.”

The roar of his own voice, the struggling of muscle over muscle and Micah’s dismayed, disgruntled sounds were all fuel to this lust fire.

He pinned Micah at last and pierced into him amidst this hasty, rapid-fire gasping from the man.

Dutch reached down to grab his hips and forced himself in to the hilt in one sharp movement.

Micah yelped and tried to hop back only to slip on the surface of the basin and pierce himself a secondary time.

“ _FFFFUCKKKK-“_

It clearly hurt. Those nasty little nick marks around his asshole ripped clean open and there was intense drag all the way in. Once speared, he could barely move without more discomfort.

Dutch groaned softly through his nose whilst Micah snarled and stiffened.

“ _MMmeannnnnnnn mean nasty mannnn._ ” Micah complained.

All he could do was brace either side of the tub and lean to straighten his back some.

“SSFFFFFFFFFFFFFFffffffffffffffffff- “

Dutch closed one eye and cracked his shoulders some in adjustment. He felt his dick throb for movement and friction. He obliged the wretched urges with another thrust.

Micah bit down on his own lip, growled and hissed.  He braced himself for each blow. Water and soap were forked into him in the motions and sent chemical stings radiating along the wounds.

“RHRHGGH HRHGG Wwhyyyyy ccan’t yo…hhhhh…let me…..HAVE this!”

Groaning and snarling with aggressive complaints took the edge off.

Dutch laughed in a dry, hazy way. The water sloshed back and forth and over the sides of the tub as he worked him over. Thrust after thrust after thrust. Each was sloppy, ill placed and furthered a sick pleasure.

“Ooohhhhh- I’m letting you _have it_ alright. It’s the LAST-“ He thrust hard for emphasis and Micah screamed. “-You’ll EVER have from _me, goddamnit._ ”

Micah sputtered a series of broken laughs amidst the splashing of filthy water right and left. This _mess_ they were making of themselves, the tub and their own battered psyches was depressing.

_“Dutch._ ”

Dutch paused and looked down, somewhat dazed in his own pleasure aura.

Micah was pawing and patting at his torso with very expressive cringes. There were a few bright red streaks in the completely smoky water from fresh blood drifting about.

Dutch stopped with a deep breath and took either side of the man’s face in his hands. When he spoke, his voice was soft and nurturing.

“My _cruelty…………son………_ Is showing.” Dutch was breathless, and his panting fell scattered with Micah’s.  “But _that’s what you do to me. Micah._ Youuu……………. You just love digging out that……………..that _monster_ in me. Only _now…………. he’s finally here to stay._ ”

Micah bared his teeth and jerked his head away in bitter scorn.

Dutch grabbed him again with more insistence and leaned in, so the emphasis of his tone aligned with how deeply he was jammed inside him. He felt this shudder from Micah’s core.

“ _Please, Dutch_.”

Dutch grabbed him about the throat and shoved his weight forward to force his unfortunate companion under the water.

Micah really struggled then, but it was worth wrangling him down and feeling the complete panic spasm through his lower half. Bubbles roiled up to the surface as Micah screamed underwater. He swung his arm out to fight back with ferocity, but Dutch had angles on him he couldn’t compete with.

Dutch grit his teeth and finished fucking him. He felt utterly monstrous, completely _consumed_ with rage, lust and unimaginable pleasure right up to the peak.

Micah’s struggles pushed him over quickly and he clenched tight as he came.

This specific cruelty, coupled with lust and adrenaline, gave him a high he hadn’t found yet in alternative sources.

He let Micah go and the outlaw slung himself back to the surface in a heaving, choking mess. Dutch gave him room to escape the basin and Micah practically fell over the side of the tub with heaps of bathwater and soap.

Dutch was still breathing heavy as he sunk back into his place at the head of the basin. He had to take a second to soak in afterglow before he could remove himself from this _mess._

Micah stumbled up from the floor, slipping and sliding a little bit as he went. He braced on the side of the wall and put his head to it with a loud, snarling scream of rage coupled with complete misery. He slammed the bottom of his fist into the wall hard enough to splinter a piece of wood loose. A painting fell, followed by a glass on the counter top.

He couldn’t look at Dutch. Couldn’t act on the rage and just stood here shaking and snarling like a half -drowned animal instead.

Dutch looked on idly as he caught his breath.

Cruel satisfaction coiled in his chest.

“Well Micah. You’ve _eeeffectively_ ruined both our baths………………..better go _wash up_ in the trough outside while I get rid of your stench in here.”

Micah covered his face and drug his hands frantically along his scalp hard enough to pull his hair. He was clearly fighting back a scream, but not well. He still couldn’t look back and didn’t as he bid a hasty retreat from the room.

If he hadn’t learned his lesson _yet,_ there was truly no hope for the bastard.


	5. No Hard Feelings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (There is a bit of a little jump between the last chapter and this one where I cut out a lot of boring mumbo jumbo. This chapter includes mentions of Arthur.)

The heaviest portions of winter came and went on the homestead without too much excitement for a while. The roads snowed in completely, which prevented access to the stores and other camps.

Dutch busied himself with cleanliness routines to keep busy and stave off that deep depression, but the hollow feeling never faded. He couldn’t escape the pressure of being haunted by the deceased and wasn’t sure he wanted to.

He didn’t interact with Micah unless he absolutely had to, and that time eventually came.

Into the third week, they ran out of food. A lot of the cans which seemed okay before were damaged. Dutch explained botulism a dozen times _VERY_ loudly to the tune of Micah insisting he’d eat them _anyway._

Dutch set off on foot to get something fresh from the woods. He swore to himself he’d shoot and eat the first goddamn thing he saw.

Micah refused initially and showed up with the horse ten minutes later.

Micah wanted to stir up the entire forest and drive prey out of the trees, which was a fool’s errand. The outlaw’s loud, obnoxious voice sent every animal within a five-mile radius scattering. It took another half hour to see anything and the only option appeared to be a large, ugly looking ram on an outcropping.

The animal was standing on the cliff edge just below them. Micah was _convinced_ he could take it on.

“Micah,” Dutch uttered in snappy, impatient tones. “That animal is 200 pounds. _How_ are you figuring you’ll get it back _up here?_.”

Micah was crouched down looking over the ridge. He bounced eagerly on his toes and hissed.

“Quit yer whiningggg. I’ll just cut off twenty pounds or so and rope lift em.”

Dutch glowered over at him.

Then he looked back at down at the beast digging around in the snow.

“And when it leaps off the goddamn cliff, what then?” He started to mumble before the deafening sound of the old rifle blasted right by his ear.

The obnoxious noise echoed far and wide through the mountains and the sheep bellowed, screeched and slung itself all over the rock face. Micah blasted a chunk into its shoulder which was no where near an effective kill.

The beast was pissed the fuck off instead and started charging into the rock face.

“HAHA HHH-!!!!!” Micah hopped up right over the edge and maneuvered the steps down.

“YOU IDIOT.” Dutch stood up to get a better view of this madman.

“WHAT _exactly_ are you gonna do?????”

Micah threw the rifle over his shoulder and unsheathed his knife with a wild laugh. Dutch felt this incredible, explosive urge to laugh.

“It’s gonna butt you…… Right off the fucking cliff.”

“ _I just gotta kill something!!”_ Micah hopped straight down to be on level with this thing. The damaged animal lined up, bleated and charged the outlaw.

Dutch looked off behind himself and then back again. He’d leave, AFTER Micah got tossed. Entertainment was drastically hard to come by lately.

Micah dodged the beast by a hairs width and grabbed the horn on the way by. Inertia jerked him right off his feet and they both went flying straight into the rock face. The sheep took the brunt of it whilst Micah hooked up on its shoulders, with the knife at the ready.

Dutch gawped. “ _Oh, you hopeless moron.”_

Not a millisecond after Micah put himself in THIS position, the ram threw its entire body into a rolling buck and then another and another. Micah was just hanging on by the horn for dear life.

_“I GOT EM. GG-GOT EM-“_

The lunatic was wrestling the ram to the ground with everything in him.

Dutch hollered down. “Who knew the mount you always NEEDED was one as thick skulled and stupid as YOU!?”

Micah stabbed the animal in the side of the throat again and again and again with an animalistic roar and down they both went in a flurry of blood and snow.

“Christ, Micah.” Dutch followed. He was careful as he stepped down to the lower ledge.

Micah was still on the beast and still stabbing away. His entire front, face especially, was drenched and dripping with bright red.

“It’s _dead_ already. Give it a rest.”

“RRRGHHGHH- IS NOW!!” Micah slammed the knife down in the skull. He was out of breath and spent, which meant he was going to be mostly useless.

The outlaw flashed a grin up at his companion and roughly wiped at his mouth.

Dutch paused to take in this image.

They had been nothing but miserable for weeks now. This was probably the happiest this jackass had looked since showing up with the money.

“Carve the head off this thing. I got an idea.”

Micah scrunched his nose and sneezed blood.

It took another twenty minutes to dress the animal. The smell of fresh blood and cuts of meat were a promise of a good meal for the first time in weeks.  Life had a funny way of providing small favors where all hope was lost.

With all they could carry, they headed back in higher spirits. Dutch was reluctant to admit it.

To add to the good fortune, they stumbled upon a very well-hidden cellar on the fringe of the property. Upon investigation, it turned out to be frozen storage. The entire place was stocked full of vegetables, fruits, booze and meat that must have been added just before the freeze.

The irony was going hungry when this was sitting here, but it was a victory finding it nonetheless.

With arms and bags full of food, the pair stormed the kitchen and Dutch stirred up his, previously nonexistent, love of the culinary arts. Micah cleaned his heavy ‘trophy’ by peeling the skin and coaxing tissue away from the ram skull. The house filled with scents of savory food and smoke and Dutch’s baritone voice describing major hunts from the past.

He left out names, but each rendition stabbed him deeply if he thought too long on them.

They ate together in the waning light and Dutch mused on this strange existence.

 How could man be so multifaceted? Was all sorrow temporary? Was any sorrow real?? Was love real?? Was it the same for everyone?? Did it mean anything in the end??

He _was_ dipping into the moonshine a little.

Micah scrounged off to bathe himself without an actual request from his companion and left Dutch to work on whatever _project_ he’d been consumed by on the mountain earlier.

By the side of the roaring fire, Dutch cracked the skull just below one of the eye sockets and left the horns beautifully intact.

He chipped away at the remaining piece and attached it to rope. What started out as just a complete waste of time became a bit more complicated than intended. It’d been ages since he worked with his hands like this and it took him back to fashioning disguises with Hosea when they first started out.

Micah returned and smoked as he watched Van Der Linde concentrate.

The filthy, vile bandit had cleaned up suspiciously more than usual down to finely clipping his unruly facial hair. He hadn’t bothered putting on anything but a pair of trousers.

“Makin a helmet?” He gestured.

Dutch squinted in the firelight as he fastened the rope into place.

“No………..Get me…… that….that wolf skin over there.”

Micah’s brows raised, and he leaned back to check over his shoulder. He obliged the request.

“You know…..” Dutch used his low, focused voice as he spoke. “Throughout history, horned helmets were more…………………a _religious_ ceremonial garment……..than.……..battle pieces.”

Micah nodded slowly and crossed his arms lazily over his abdomen.

“Yeahhhhhh……… _didn’t_ work so great for the goat.”

The latter half of the hour was spent working on this and glancing at Micah starting to doze on the chair nearby. Only when he had something finished did Dutch stir his house mate back awake.

“Stand up.”

Micah rubbed at his eye and lazily followed the order. Dutch clapped down ‘crown’ he’d been working on onto his head and tied it for good measure.

“HAha.ff… _dresssss up game._ Shoulda seen it comin.”

“SSSH. _Don’t_. Ruin it.”

Dutch adjusted the crown and added the lustrous wolf pelt as a shoulder drape. The skull was nearly all crushed off save the temple and horns so it affixed neatly against Micah’s brow and cast his eyes mostly in shadow.

Seemingly possessed by the imagery in his head, Dutch fastened the cape with the leather strappings off an old saddle. He doubled them several fold about the man’s torso.

Micah was half grinning the whole time and mouthing something without saying it.

Dutch stopped to check the visual and grabbed coal ash from the fireplace.

Leaning in, he squinted and clapped the black soot around Micah’s eyes to fulfill that dark shading. The outlaw winced in offense and shook himself a bit.

“FPfhff _now that I’m goddamn blind-…_ Good?”

Dutch furrowed his brow and shook his head slightly.

“It’s … _unrefined……….._ ”

Micah made short scoff of a noise.

“ _Unrefined….he says._ Like it weren’t made in an hour.”

Dutch bit down on his knuckle slightly to concentrate on what this was missing.

Micah turned in place with a snort. He spotted a lantern hanging across the room and went to get it.

“ _Hold_ that thought, Dutch-“

The outlaw picked up the lantern and held it closer to his face. The extra light made those wild blue eyes pop against the black coal.

Dutch gestured to him and exhaled.

“ _That._ That is it.”

Micah sneered this grin and dropped immediately into character with his other arm coiled in a menacing gesture.

“………’ _Hell is EMPTY………….and all the devils are here’………….”_

Dutch sighed and shook his head.

“No, that quote is-“

He stopped at that _look_ Micah was giving him. With a sigh, Dutch motioned across the room to him.

“You………………..…look like the _thing_ from my nightmares.”

Micah huffed through his nose and shook his head. The horns were tight enough in place that they moved with the gesture. The outlaw took a deep, stabilizing breath and raised his arms up expressively. When he spoke, his voice was very strained.

“I cc-ould really………I could really use _a little kindness_ right about now, Dutch. It has been a cold..cold year so far. I imagine, ah, that a little……..little bit of love- might do us _both_ some good.”

Dutch waited patiently and brushed charcoal dust from his fingers. He was listening but not looking at Micah.

“Why me, Micah?” Dutch’s tone was more apathetic than morose.

The other outlaw sighed through his teeth with a distracted adjustment of the fur cloak on his shoulders. 

“Uh..well………. _I dunno._ Hmmmm.”

“How _low_ is your self-respect, Micah, that you reach for me even now?? After all you’ve done to me, after ALL _I’ve_ done to you. Why would I even _want_ someone so self..loathing, so self-depreciating as that?”

Micah dropped his arms by his sides with a very long exhale in response to this commentary. He looked around the room as if in search of the answer before gesturing to himself.

“I am dressed like a _goat_ right now, because hereeeee I thought it might bring a _smile_ to your face for once,” He seethed in exasperation. “And that is _all_ I gotta say about my _self-respect._ I’m finding a new low. ”

Dutch scoffed, then nodded. He took his time lighting up a cigar and slowly crossed the room to his companion.

Micah glowered up at him from beneath this ensemble.

Dutch reached out to put his hands on those horns.

“So then,” He pushed his thumbs over the horns thoughtfully. “You……..Forgive me for _whipping you_ , cutting you and then ultimately _raping_ you?”

Micah’s steel blue eyes were focused upon him and his jaw was tight.

“That’s on you, boss.”

Silence fell upon them, with the older party looking pensive. He finally took hold of one of the horns and coaxed his ‘loyal’ counterpart down the hall with steady steps. Micah easily kept up and didn’t argue the obvious degradation as they entered the master bedroom.

Dutch pulled him in and braced his broad hand against the man’s cheek with gentle petting movements.

Micah flinched at first but eased up.

When Dutch leaned in, Micah scrunched his features up to the second it turned into a kiss above the mouth. The outlaw quivered as it was held long enough to feel the man’s warmth on him and breathe in second hand cigar smoke. 

Dutch still turned the key to the mangled, cast iron thing he called a heart.

He waited anxiously for the exchange to devolve into cruelty. Dutch pushed another firm kiss in right on his mustache and then another upon his mouth.  The skin on skin contact made him _ache._

Micah was all tension, but he wanted that kiss desperately.  He strove not to seem too desperate as his mind wasn’t far from that lit cigar the man was holding. He glanced down at it just to bring attention to his concerns and Dutch noticed.

“You still believe me when I make you a promise?”

Micah cleared his throat and stood up much straighter.

“Y-yes.”

Dutch took a long drag off the cigar and they kissed again. This time, Micah caught it with his lips parted and received a mouthful of pungent smoke. He inhaled expressively and exhaled the second the man broke away.

“I promise, I’m not gonna hurt you. Not tonight. Not with this…not with anything.”

Micah laughed breathlessly in relief. Now that he’d received the man’s word, he felt himself relax _immediately._ He was being punished before -for disrespect, insubordination and betrayal- and it was punishment he could justify in his mind. The sooner they could put it all behind them, the better.

He was all sly grins now as Dutch waited expectantly.

The two pressed together in a deep mouthed kiss that only broke again when Van Der Linde took another puff of his cigar. Micah persisted in search of more oral exchanges and they kissed again and again.

It was up to Micah to stoke the embers now that Dutch had him hooked.

Dutch helped him out of the make-shift helmet and in turn, Micah helped him out of his pants. Their gestures were slow and far warmer now than the state of their relationship. Dutch put out the cigar on the side table and opened his arm for the bandit to slip in against him.

They kissed firmly, grasped hard and pressed bodies until the inertia dropped them into the bed with Dutch beneath. The frame and mattress creaked and squeaked from the pressure. The bedside lamp offered enough warm lighting over their increasingly nude frames.

Micah was gasping and hissing softly as he shifted his weight upon his superior.  He shrugged off the fluffy shoulder garb and sunk down for another kiss that was far more tongue than lips.

His bed mate lazily accepted and firmly pressed his teeth upon the offending appendage.  Just a little bit of pressure before returning with his own tongue.  Micah was too entrenched in lust to take any chances saying _anything._

Their bodies fell in sync enough that a few tumbles later he was back on top with his bare hands sliding over Dutch’s nude abdomen. His fingers tangled up in coarse chest hair and he fought at the man’s mouth to be freed of this endless kissing session.

Dutch let him go. His eyes were very dark and expression somber, but he was at full attention, nonetheless. Micah could feel the pressure and pulse of his arousal against his own belly and was drooling to get his mouth on it.

“Go on.” Came the breathless order.

“Auhhhhhhhhhhhh _I love this_ ,” Micah exclaimed his passions loudly in his affront all the way to his boss’ hipline. “I love this…………..I need this, Dutch. Auhhh you have no idea how much it _hurts._ ”

Dutch rubbed at his own mouth as he watched.

Micah could hardly stop whispering things long enough to actually blow him, but the visual worship was well worth it. The man had both hands on his cock base and his face against the side of the shaft. He could feel those rapid, hot breaths tickling his flesh between the rough bristle of his mustache and warmth of his lips.

Dutch mused away these foggy feelings of Arthur as they were impossible to focus on in the current second.

“ _Micah._ Less talking…………….” He made a ‘wrap it up’ gesture.

Micah groaned under his breath and shook himself off.

_“Right.”_

Dutch nodded and closed his eyes with his hand over them. He could hear the loud pounding of his heart in his own ears and he filled his mind again with preoccupations of the deceased.  Where as Micah was intensely fixated on the present moment, Dutch’s mind drifted off.

 

_Arthur, with his broad shoulders and those perceptive eyes, had a mouthful of him in this distant memory. There wasn’t an ounce of malice between them; only the resounding trust in one another that ran far deeper than he’d ever have with anyone else._

_He could barely keep his breath steady and it was getting embarrassing._

_“You are getting…….too good at this, my boy.”_

_“Awhhhh, S’that right?” Arthur mocked in his rich, gravelly voice. He’d raised his head and was cracking that dastardly smirk. “Now you just tell me to slowww right down if you can’t keep.”_

_Dutch laughed and swatted roughly at that handsome face._

_“Mind your elder, you over grown pup. And come here.”_

_It still gave him chills when Arthur shifted up over him with this stature and power. He’d been nothing but a scrawny boy and now he was a man, a trained killer…………. **his** trained killer. _

_No matter how big and deadly he grew, Arthur remained as dangerous as a newborn kitten to Dutch._

_“Nooww then, Dutch.” Arthur’s voice was all amorous growls._

 

He stirred himself out of the fog to find Micah still working and taking his sweet, sweet time at it. His compulsions were up in visiting this memory and he barely debated stopping him.

Micah looked very hazy as he was tapped on the side of the head. He lifted himself up as directed with gasping and soft groaning the whole time.

Dutch felt his own face was hot as he dragged his hand through his hair.

“You got it?”

Micah nodded with a distant laugh as he wiped precum off his mouth.

“Y-y…yeah. Already taken care of.”

Dutch suddenly looked at him with his eyes squeezed suspiciously. Micah raced to explain and cleared his hoarse throat as he did.

“ _Just….in case._ Thought I’d be ready this time.”

He shifted back as the other sat up in the bed. Dutch still had this intensely foggy, lusting look about him and for a moment they regarded one another with a shared hunger.

“N-not to dismiss your efforts, but you’ll have to get _me_ ready.”

Micah looked around like he hadn’t heard him correctly before squinting back. His breath rate picked up several fold in the same instance. He wasn’t going to ask Dutch if he meant it and instead raced to dig the tub of lubricant out of his pants pocket.

He appeared somewhat frantic about applying the greasy, oily material anywhere on Dutch.

“One word, Micah and that’s the end of it.” Dutch warned breathlessly.

His companion shuddered hard and nodded in understanding.

With a deep breath, Dutch grabbed the bed post and pulled himself over on his front. He folded his arms under his chin and closed his eyes as his bare back end was shown. Micah gawped some with complete uncertainty.

He rubbed both hands in the oily concoction and pushed his palms down upon the small of Dutch’s back.

Straddling the man’s hip line, Micah rubbed upwards to his shoulder blades and pushed all his fingers firmly across warm skin and muscle. Dutch glowered forward at the head board with a rough snort and waited for him to get the message. It felt fantastic having his back rubbed but he had other itches that needed scratching.

Micah obliged with an expression that clearly said he thought he was getting away with something. He braced his brow down between the man’s shoulder blades and hooked his fingers into him.

Dutch put his face down and tried finding that place again. It would take a good moment with Micah’s audible _breathing._

_Arthur was as eager with his hands as expected. Dutch felt convinced he was giving him too much power._

_The only other person on this Earth who could work him over from this angle was Hosea, and that man loved to do it with a sly smile on his face. Arthur’s fingers were bigger, blunt and calloused. He expected it to be rough._

_It wasn’t. It was slow, easy and fantastic from the first push.  Arthur was heavy handed where he needed to be and gentle as a lamb where it counted._

_He relaxed with him. There was mutual trust in sharing this side of himself and letting his guard down. Arthur submitted to him in every single aspect of life but only here, this once, would he put all control in his faithful friend’s hands._

_The big brute was just as concise with every part of himself. He braced for discomfort upon Arthur entering his body but there was no need to._

Micah, however, was a little shakier and clumsy in his nerves. He clearly struggled not to moan loudly at the connection. Dutch grit his teeth as he was jerked again from the pleasant warmth into reality.

He felt a spike in visceral pleasure at Micah dropping forward to brace his brow into his back. The outlaw was breathing so raggedly in his excitement. Dutch furrowed his brow and they moved together in sharp, jerky motions. Skin softly clapped against skin as this internal massage curved right into precisely the right point.

Dutch stayed mostly quiet save a soft grunt here or there. Micah, on the other hand, was only getting louder by the second.

The friction, rhythm and pleasure lulled Dutch off despite it. His mind entered that blissful haze and again he was back in bed with Arthur.

 

_Arthur always seemed to know exactly what to do, but it was his pure adoration that fanned the flames. When Arthur expressed love for him, it was as honest as the sky was blue._

_In that distinct moment, he again felt that immense satisfaction in knowing he had something special here. Something he wasn’t going to find anywhere else with anyone else._

_Arthur, Arthur, Arthu-_

Micah stopped thrusting rigidly, and Dutch collapsed right back in the middle of their session to find his partner panting irregularly over top of him.

He was completely out of breath and soaked in sweat from working with Micah. From the abrupt pause, he could already tell what happened. Whilst he was dazing off into that fantasy, he must have betrayed the exact object of his thoughts. Just a name. Outloud. That was all it took.

Micah’s hands were shaking. He sniffed repeatedly and Dutch grimaced as he felt the turn in his stomach.

“ _You…………youuu promised me, Dutch,_ ” Micah hissed in accusatory tones.

Dutch groaned in exasperation.

“And my heart is _breaking_ for you. Keep going.” Dutch expressed sarcastically. How could a man stop dead still, balls deep in anything!?

Drops of something wet hit his back and Dutch pushed up on his forearms with an incredulous look over his shoulder. Micah jerked out of him and stumbled back in full retreat out of the bed.

“Hey!” Dutch sat up and seized him by the forearm before he could escape completely.

“Now where the hell do you think you’re _going? Micah?”_

Micah flipped about with a sneer and pointed. He looked utterly livid but there were traces of tears through the dusty charcoal Dutch had patted on earlier.

“YOU promised you weren’t gonna hurt me, not _tonight. NOT tonight, he says!!_ ” Micah rubbed hard at his right eye with the shudder of a sob.

_“You unbelievable infant.”_ Dutch lamented loudly and jerked him back down into the bed.

Micah barked out a noise and fought but Dutch persisted to take his face into both hands, nonetheless. He worked him down upon the mattress and leaned over him with shushing sounds over and over.

Micah was sneering and clenching his teeth and eyes shut with a mean determination, but fresh tears were breaking down his face and disappearing into his mustache.

“ _Ssshhhh soft, frail little thing,”_

Dutch held onto him until he calmed down. Micah’s body language was completely closed off to him.

“Now, seeing as you can’t even handle a little _verbal_ abuse. I can take it from here.”

He watched Micah curl up on the bed into an absolute ball of bitter malcontent as if that was going to completely discourage him.

“Micah.” Dutch leaned over him and rapt his hand against the man’s abdomen.

Micah hissed in a deep breath and then deflated with a growl.

“ _Oh, it figures. Even from the grave, ol’ cowpoke has me beat.”_

Dutch scoffed out a resentful laugh.

“ _You_ sound like Molly.”

The insult had Micah coil and leer upwards. It wasn’t just a retort, but also a distinct reminder that he knew exactly who had driven his last lover over the edge.

“It’s allll you, boss.” Micah drawled.

Dutch pinned him down and took his liberties. Micah was wise enough to prepare, after all. The outlaw cringed as his legs were pulled apart from one another with Dutch moving between. Dutch was certain it was no consolation he could think only of Micah as he looked down upon him.

He took his time and was gentle right up to achieving satisfaction.

Micah wasn’t exactly _grateful._


End file.
